


and back again

by thispieceofmind



Series: where are we now [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It feels like breathing, being so close to him, and while their mouths are so near and warm, Louis can’t figure out why he’s denied himself air for so long."</p>
            </blockquote>





	and back again

**Author's Note:**

> omggg i didn't even have plans to make a sequel but britta begged me and it's a happy ending because i am a sap and she would've killed me if it was otherwise  
> okay enjoy

Louis feels that burning for weeks. It’s omnipresent, but slight, barely there. It feels like when you get dirt in a fresh cut or the sting on your finger when you touch a too-hot kettle. Harry avoids him, avoids his gaze and his presence and won’t dare look him in the eye. Louis is sure the boys notice, but they don’t say anything. They don’t need to; they’re used to the ever-fluctuating wars between Louis and Harry. Louis almost wishes they weren’t. He wishes that they couldn’t stand to see how their mates fight when they used to be best friends. But maybe nearly three years has done it for them. Louis wishes they hadn’t given up on him. Louis wishes he hadn’t started at all. 

Louis thinks that after three weeks maybe the burn is starting to simmer, to burn out completely – he hopes, anyway. He’s come to terms with jealousy as his biggest problem, but as soon as things start to cool down, Harry manages to heat them up again. He stirs the pot, and Louis’s raging once more. 

They’re at a bar, the lot of them, and Louis is fuming. He thinks he’s colored green with steam pouring from his ears. 

Harry’s sleek like he always is, leaning against the bar with some fruity drink that Louis vaguely remembers him obsessing about when they were young. He’s talking to a bird, and she’s got the long hair and the hourglass figure that makes Louis breathe jealousy. He’s smiling his big, cheesin’ smile, the one that stretches too wide for his face and shows all his teeth and makes his eyes go big and sparkly. Louis hates her already. 

He watches them laugh and smile until he can’t anymore, and then he can’t take it. He downs a shot and smooths his too-tight shirt, going onto the dance floor and staying there, dancing with everyone around him, letting the boys touch him where they want to touch and holding the girls where they want to be held. He ignores the sweat on his forehead and on his back and dances until they’re supposed to leave. 

He misses the heat and the noise as soon as they’re escorted out. He’s anxious the whole car ride back to the hotel, and he has to ignore the glance Liam sends him at the sight of his jumpy leg. His fingers drum on his thigh, and once they’re at the hotel, he’s thankful for the night air because he thinks it might cool him down. He paces once he’s in his suite, knowing he needs sleep but not tired enough to get it. He decides to find the hotel pool, instead. He craves something that will keep him busy, clear his mind. He changes from his sticky club clothes and pulls on swim trunks, but drapes a towel on his shoulders and holds it tight in the front. He opts for no shoes. 

When Louis reaches the lift, his breath hitches and he immediately wants to turn back and attempt to swim in the bath or something. But Harry is looking at him already, so his has to stay on his game. 

“Pool?” Harry asks, and that’s the first clearly annunciated word Harry has said to him in almost a month. 

Louis hums in response, pauses. “And you? Oh, wait. Let me guess. Are you going back to that pretty girl from the club?” 

Harry’s eyebrows knit and he frowns – the one that Louis hates even though he’s usually the cause of it. “God, are you honestly that forgetful or are you just a git?” 

“Enlighten me, Harry,” Louis says as the elevator doors open. “What am I, ehm, _forgetting?_ ” 

“I don’t like girls you bloody fucking twat.”  

Louis gasps. “Mouth, Styles! This is a swear-free hotel.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Louis laughs, wraps his towel tighter around him to keep from collapsing. He wonders how he’s managed to keep his façade up for so long, how he hasn’t cracked yet. But he remembers – god, of course he does. He remembers it like it was just a minute ago, it’s so vivd. It was all that time ago, during the X Factor when they were dumb, young, and clueless. Friends. It was night, and they were touching, talking. Harry whispered to him in a moment of silence, and Louis remembers how scared he was, how watery his eyes were. He remembers the way they touched. He’s hit with a pang of longing. 

Louis hums again and murmurs stiffly, “Can’t seem to recall.” He steps into the lift. 

Harry turns away, muttering something about “not being able to stand in the same lift with you,” and Louis presses the button for the floor he’s headed on. 

Just as the doors shut, he swears he hears a sob. 

He wonders how it’s not his own, and if he could reach into his chest and pull out his heart, if it would be in pieces. 

*** 

“You see,” Louis booms to the audience, “Harry here has a bit of a problem with his emotional control. He laughs when things aren’t funny and cries when things are not really all that sad. But, honest,” he says over the audience’s laughter, “it’s why we love him. Sensitive little doll.” he walks across stage to drape an arm over Harry’s shoulder and pinch his cheeks. He ignores the way he has to stand on his tiptoes to do it and the way he has to fake his giggle and grin when Harry shoves him of in a way that’s probably meant to look playful. 

When they’re off stage and Niall, Liam, and Zayn are nowhere to be found, Harry snarls at him. “God, you have no idea how much I want to hit you sometimes.”  “I’m sorry to break it to you, Harry, but you’re not going to pull with a chat up line like that.” Harry says nothing. “But go ahead, darling, you can hit me. I’m not as fragile as I seem.” Louis steps closer to Harry, and he invades his personal space even though he knows he’s not wanted there. He turns his cheek. “Have a go. I promise I won’t hold a grudge for _too_ long.” 

“Fucking–” Harry starts, but then he’s cupping Louis cheek so hard and so fast that it almost _does_ hurt, but his lips are mashing against Louis’ and their bodies are pressing together and there’s not much else Louis can think about. It’s gross, how Louis clings to him. He steers them toward the back of a couch and presses Harry into it. He clutches to Harry’s hair like it’s a lifeline, presses his body so close that it seems like air can barely squeeze through. It feels like breathing, being so close to him, and while their mouths are so near and warm, Louis can’t figure out why he’s denied himself air for so long. Harry’s hand is insistent on his cheek, warm, big, and heavy, keeping them together. Louis wants to stay like this forever, taking up the same space and kissing so he doesn’t say anything he regrets. 

The kiss has gone from brutal to almost gentle, and it should scare him, but it doesn’t because this is what he _wants_. He wants it so badly that he thinks maybe his own desire is the source of heat that he always thought Harry sparked up. He clutches in fear of letting go, and he isn’t expecting it when Harry clutches back. 

But then Louis feels like he’s suffocating because Harry is pulling away with swollen pink lips and a look in his eyes that Louis can’t decipher. Louis’ hands fall from his hair, and Harry replaces them with his own, turning on his heel and tugging. “I don’t get it,” Harry mutters. “I don’t get it. I don’t get how you can do that.” 

“Do what?” Louis asks carefully, following Harry’s eyes they wander throughout the room. 

“I don’t get how – how you can hate me so much, and then, and then kiss me like that. Kiss me like you mean it.” 

“It’s just a kiss, love,” Louis says. “S’nothing special. You put them after every one of your tweets and I’ve done it with enough people to have the, er, value taken away.” 

Harry bites his lip. “It’s not! It’s not just a kiss and you know it. It’s – it’s more than that. You can’t just kiss and then, and then–” 

“And then what, Harry? Nothing. Fucking nothing.” Louis grabs his hoodie, pulls it over his head, and leaves. 

That night, he finally cries. 

*** 

Days off are nice. Days off are good. Usually, Louis really likes days off. But today he’s sitting in his hotel bed with an empty tray of room service next to him, and god does he wish he had a distraction. He’s dwelling. He’s always been a dweller. Ever since he was young, when something bad would happen, he’d sit down and think about it for hours, until it all got to be too much. Right now, he needs to act. He needs to do something or he might go insane. 

He gets up, pulls on a big sweater that hangs off his frame, and barely shrugs on his sweatpants. He’s tired and melancholy, so he stands in his doorframe until he thinks of where to go. Zayn and Liam are out, Niall talked about his plans to power-sleep the whole day away last night, and Harry is in. Louis briefly recalls him saying something about wanting to read. Louis wants to go, but doesn’t want to go, and he thinks about it until he just _does_ , because he’s horny and sleepy and confused. 

He pads barefoot through their rented-out floor until he reaches Harry’s room at the end of the hall. As soon as he gets to the door, he can hear faint music playing in the late morning, and he wants to just watch him for a little, not say anything or do anything so they don’t have to argue, but there’s a door between them, so he when he finally finds the courage to knock, he has to suck in a deep breath to prevent from closing in on himself. 

He’s not ready for it when Harry opens the door. He’s soft and sleepy looking, hair down and curls awry. He’s wearing briefs and a sweater that hangs to his mid-thigh. His eyelids looked heavy and surprised at the sight of Louis, and Louis feels like he’s gasping for air. He can’t help himself, and he stands up on his tiptoes and kisses Harry’s lips softly. His hand rests softly on Harry’s waist, and he finds himself without the desire to grip, just to touch and feel. 

Harry blinks as Louis pulls back, rubs his eyes, and shakes his head once. “Ehm, hi?” 

“Harry,” Louis breathes. 

“Louis, what are you doing here?” Harry says, hardening already, sealing Louis from getting past. It’s like Louis is shocked back into reality. 

“I’m bored, and fucking you sounded like it could suffice as reasonable entertainment, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Uh–” Harry starts. 

“I’m not gonna say please, but honestly, Harry, you can’t just turn down a good fuck.”  “Actually, I –” 

“Harry.” 

“What do you want? Do you honestly think I need to fuck you? Get off your damn high horse, Louis. I’m happy where I am.” 

They’re in the doorway still. Louis just wants to hiss him again, he doesn’t even find himself wanting to fight back. He scrubs a hand across his face. “Never mind,” Louis says, and it’s not as harsh as he’d wished it to be. It’s more defeated, more that he wanted. He wants to curse. “Just – never mind. I’ll go.” He turns on his heel and feels just fucking stupid. He’d given up and lost at his own game. He doesn’t even know what he’s playing at anymore. He only knows the prize has always been Harry and that he’s never going to be crowned winner. 

A hand grabs his wrist. “Lou, wait.” 

Harry hasn’t called him that in at least a year. 

“What?” Louis doesn’t mean to snap. 

“You can, just fucking do it.” 

Louis has to force himself to smirk. He steps through the doorway and shoves Harry against the wall after slamming the door shut. He starts at his neck because he remembers how good he tastes there, he remembers from when they were young and he would leave marks on his neck because it was Louis’ guilty pleasure, and Harry liked the way it made him squirm. He still does, when Louis leaves a bruise on the junction of where his neck meets his shoulder, and his breathing gets ragged and heavy. He bites across his jaw, knowing his destination but touching like he’s unsure, kisses fleeting and light. He finally reaches Harry’s lips, and he threads his fingers through his hair to keep him close because he feels like he’s constantly going to slip through his grip. Louis doesn’t want to have to let go. 

The kiss is messy and Louis is too demanding, but Harry whines into his mouth because he can never seem to contain himself. His teeth scrape along Harry’s puffy lower lip and their tongues slide together dirtily. Louis pulls back to admire him ravished. The pad of his thumb runs along Harry’s swollen lip. “You’ve always had such a lovely mouth, Harry. Not when you run it off too much, but just, nice, for when you tell those god awful stories and refuse to shut up.” Harry tenses, and Louis runs his finger over his cupid’s bow, getting him to shudder. “I’d bet you’d be aces at taking a cock in your mouth, wouldn’t you? I’d bet you’d let me fuck your mouth.” Harry whimpers and Louis lets out the smallest of chuckles. 

He taps Harry’s lips again with his fingers, and mouthes at the corner of his jaw. “Can you multitask, Harry? Do you think I could use your mouth, fuck it, and have you finger yourself open for me, too? Because I need to be done here, and you’re gonna have to do that for me.” He’s not really asking anymore. 

“I can,” Harry murmurs, and his voice is raw, deep. Louis wants him so badly. All of him. 

“You will,” he says. He tugs on Harry’s hair, and he falls to his knees gracefully, and Louis briefly wonders how many times he’s done this. Then he realizes he doesn’t want to know. Harry sucks his cock like a champ, lips tight around the head, all stretched and shiny and bright pink. His eyes are watery and green as ever, and Louis thinks he might need him. He whines as he bobs his head, fingers reaching behind him to stretch himself out. He flicks his tongue along this slit and takes heavy breaths through his nose that make Louis want to kiss him hard and never stop. Eventually, his mouth stills, and Louis’ hips cant forward. He fucks Harry’s mouth hard, liking the way he splutters and chokes but still _wants_ it, he wants to suck Louis’ cock and that’s the best part. 

He’s got three fingers in himself now, by what Louis can see, and he stops his hips before he can come. No matter how much he wants to come all over Harry’s pretty face, he restrains himself, pulls out of his mouth, and growls at him to get on the bed, arse up. He listens but puts his fingers right back in himself once he’s on the bed. Louis frowns. “Take your damn fingers outta your arse, m’bout to fuck you.” 

Harry complies, but doesn’t turn around to meet Louis’ eyes. Louis rolls a condom on, slicks up his cock, and pushes into Harry without warning from when he gets on the bed. It seems, to Louis, as soon as he's touching Harry – his hands on his skinny hips and their bodies flush together – that he can't do this anymore. He sucks in a breath anyway, and he thrusts shallowly, weakly. He hopes it can pass as teasingly. His hands run up and down Harry's sides almost involuntarily. He doesn't know how many opportunities he's going to have to do this, to touch him. He doubts many, and that's when the anger sets in. It's anger at himself, for being so stupid, for being so hateful and cynical and pessimistic. He hates himself in that moment, and fucking Harry like he's the one Louis hates isn't doing any good.   

He presses a kiss on the back of Harry's neck tentatively, testing the waters. He feels Harry shiver, then tense, and Louis rubs his side again. Louis feels like there's a knot inside of him, there has been the whole time, and he's finally pulled too hard. The rope has snapped, and so has Louis. He stops his hips, and Harry whines. 

“Hey,” Harry snaps. 

“Shut up,” Louis says as he pulls out. He taps Harry on his side to get him to turn over, and grumbling with his hard cock leaking against his stomach, he does. 

“What are you doing?” 

Louis is defensive just from his nature. “Am I not allowed to change positions?” Louis growls. “Christ,” he mumbles as he pushes back in. It doesn't feel right. He gets his rhythm back, his hands back on Harry's little hips, and fucks him hard, but not mean. Harry keeps his eyes closed the whole time, his face contorted, lips parted as noises spill from them. Louis wants to look at him with him looking back, but he isn't sure he’d be able to keep going with eyes like that staring back. 

His hands are gripping too hard into Harry's skin, and he wants to let go but he can't bring himself to. He can never let go of Harry. 

Harry's eyes flick open as he comes, bright and glassy, and Louis can't help the words that slip through his mouth. He shoots into the condom, meets Harry’s eyes, and stares at him as he mutters, "Fuck, I love you." He collapses into Harry's shoulder, breathes for a moment. When he realizes what he's said, he sits up and pulls out, sitting back on his haunches and not meeting Harry's eyes. He peels off the condom. 

“Wait, what did you say?” Harry asks. 

“Nothing,” Louis mutters. 

“No,” Harry breathes. “No – no, you said you love me. Don't, Louis. Don't fucking mess with me like that. You can't just – you can't mess with me.” 

Louis is quiet for a while. Completely silent and completely terrified. It takes a while but he finally murmurs, “I'm not.” There's a pause. “I'm not messing with you.” 

“Don't be a dick, Louis.” 

“I'm not,” Louis says softly. “Or at least, I'm not anymore. God, I'm not lying Harry. I'm just a jealous, terrible, scared prat.” He pauses again and scratches the back of his head. He tries to think of a way to say this without being so forthright, but he can’t think of one. He opts for just blurting it out, because it seems that’s all he can manage these days anyway – blurting things out. He takes a deep breath and prays he doesn’t sound like as much of an idiot as he does in his head. He probably will. “I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since we bumped into each other in that god damn bathroom at the X Factor.  I was just too much of a scared, selfish idiot to admit it. And to be perfectly honest, I'm not exactly sure why I'm doing it now after pretending to hate you for so long and being so terrible to you. You didn't deserve that and you don't deserve to have this dumped on you now." 

Harry stays silent and Louis wants to die. He sucks in a deep breath. “Sorry,” he laments. He gives Harry a last glance, looking beautiful all fucked out – bright-eyed and pink-lipped and rosy-cheeked. Louis really, really hates himself. “I'll just, go then.” 

He goes to get off the bed, and his legs are hurting now anyway, and he attempts to ignore the sad music they fucked to because Harry didn't turn it off when he walked in. A big, warm hand circles his wrist. 

“Wait,” Harry says. “Just – explain. Explain it to me? Please.” 

Louis laughs bitterly. “You'll hate me more for what I did than for how I treated you.” 

“I’m not gonna push you away. I still remember who you are, Louis. If you're still the same, I'm not gonna push you away." He holds his arms open. Pulls the covers over his legs. “I'll listen.” “You're too good, Harry. I don't know why you're bothering to listen. You can hate me still, if you please.” He crawls into Harry's arms either way, remember how nice it is to feel him, how nice it is to be close to him. He stills smells like strawberries and boy and Harry, and now a little bit like sweat and sex. His skin is soft, and Louis still feels a little bit like crying. He presses close and tries to feel as much of Harry has he can. His touch is gentle on Louis arms and his breath is even and calming. He smooths Louis' hair back, and Louis tries to remember a time when they weren't so hesitant or scared. 

It takes him a while to speak, but when he does, Harry is still holding him. “I am a coward,” Louis starts. He hears Harry's breath to argue, but he's quiet instead. He knows he needs to listen. Louis loves him for it. “I've been in love with you since I was 18 and I didn't do a single thing. For a while I thought it was one of those things that would go away, and I wanted it to. I couldn't do it and I was scared and you terrified the shit out of me.” He is thankful that he can't see Harry's eyes. “I did nothing about it for a whole fucking year, and it went nowhere. I was so scared and I wanted it so bad, but every time I thought about it I made sure the bad outweighed the good. 

“When we went to Leeds, I spent the whole weekend thinking about you. I wanted you so bad. When we stayed up till five that night, and I learned everything about you. I loved you so much. You looked so beautiful that weekend, dirty but pure. You didn't care about anything. You were so free, and I don't think I ever wanted to kiss anyone more in my life.” 

“Why didn't you?” Harry interrupts. 

"I was a coward," Louis says. “I was so afraid of the bad things that could come from me loving you – openly, anyway – that I barely left time for the good. I freaked myself out. And I thought about the other boys and our management and what people would say and what people were already saying. 

“I was too busy thinking about all that that I forgot to think about you. And me. And us. And I needed to get away from it all. I told myself the easiest way would to be to get away from you. So I pushed you away and started to use the things I loved about you as reasons to hate you. It was the worst decision of my life, and once I had so much regret, I had dug myself a hole too big to get out of. Then, I, ever the brightest, told myself having sex with you would make it better, ‘cause I'd be near you. I'd be close to you. But it just made everything hurt ten times worse and I hate myself for all of it and making you feel like that and I'm sorry for everything. I don't expect you to forgive me. But you did deserve to know. I'm sorry.” 

He shifts in Harry’s arms, makes to leave again, but they only tighten around his waist, keep him closer. “After everything? All of it?” Harry asks. 

“All of it,” Louis murmurs. 

Harry kisses his temple. “It’s not gonna be easy, but I’ve loved you from day one.” 

“Can you still love me now?” Louis asks in a quiet voice, scared and still nervous that he’s royally fucked it all up. 

“Never stopped loving you, Lou.” 

Louis is staring at the door, and he doesn’t want to leave. He’s not leaving. He’s staying in Harry’s arm and flush against his back, because Harry loves him and Louis is not leaving. He’s not going, he’s back again.


End file.
